Not the One I Wanted to Write

But life happens as it happens

And just like that, a month has gone by. I've been putting off writing this one because I didn't want to share what's been happening. On the plus side, I've learned some new Paraguayan traditions this month. The downside is that they were funeral traditions, because one of my friends passed away.

You may recall I've mentioned the abuela next door a few times. Her name was Catalina, and I've spent many hours sitting underneath her mango tree, chatting with her and her family, drinking tereré and eating lots of her cooking.

She was walking to the store and got hit by a motorcycle while crossing the street. She passed away two days later, having never recovered. It was her 71st birthday, and there was supposed to be a party.

Instead, there was a funeral.

It's been devastating to the community here. The street that I live on is full of her family members - a sister over here, a son over there, a cousin in between. She had seven children, and I've met them all, because they all stopped by frequently to spend time with their mom. Except for the daughter who lives in Spain, of course, but she came as quick as she could after the accident. And when I finally met her, I felt like I already knew her, because Catalina was always showing me pictures.

So you can imagine how sad this street has been for the last couple of weeks.

I want to tell you about the funeral process, because it was nothing like I've ever experienced in the States. There, the exact process depends on your religious inclinations, but more or less, it's a wake, followed by a funeral, and then maybe a potluck. And it's over in a day.

Not quite like that here.

Paraguay is heavily Catholic, so I expected a Catholic funeral. This is how it went.

Instead of going to a funeral home, Catalina's viewing was held in the front room of her home. Dozens of chairs were in the front yard, underneath the mango tree. People spilled out into the street, and one by one, they paid their final respects. This lasted until the afternoon, when someone began speaking. It was hard for me to follow all of it in Spanish, but it was a call and response type thing, where the crowd would respond with "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." (in Spanish, "Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros, pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.")

Afterwards, it was time for the funeral. While there were some cars in the procession, there were a lot of people, including myself, who didn't drive. They had rented a bus for the occasion, and we filled it up and followed the hearse to the church. After the service was held, we all loaded back onto the bus and went to the cemetery.

The graves in cemeteries here are above ground, like they are in New Orleans. A grave had already been mostly built for Catalina, and after they laid her coffin in it, we watched as two guys with bricks and mortar completed the tomb. Once that was done, it was over.

Or so I thought.

Here in Paraguay, they practice the novenario. I had never heard of this, but basically, every day for the next nine days, they prayed for Catalina. Each evening, at the house next door, they would set all of the chairs out again, and people would come to participate in the orations. You would think it would be terribly depressing to have a mini-funeral every day for nine days, and yes, it was.

But it was also incredibly healing. They say there are stages to grief, and I watched as this entire community went through them together. Whenever someone would give in to the pain and lose their shit, there was always someone nearby to catch them as they fell. It was beautiful and terrible at the same time.

When we gathered together on the final night of the nine-day vigil, there was a larger crowd than usual, because this was the important one. A priest came and said a small Mass after the usual prayer orations. Then, the family passed out food and drink to everyone. And after the meal, it was finally over.

Of course, it will never really be over. Her daughter told me that she still feels like this is a dream that she can't seem to wake up from. But she is strong, and she'll get through it, with the help of her family and friends. They're here for each other.

I'll get back to a regular newsletter soon, but I had to get this off my chest. I hadn't realized how much time I spent with her until she was gone. Everything reminds me of her, and maybe writing it down will help me process it better.

Hug your people, life can change in a blink.